


Pride

by veritashopian



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Customer Service, Gen, Homophobic Language, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Mild Language, Trans Male Character, Transphobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-22
Updated: 2020-06-22
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:20:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24865216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veritashopian/pseuds/veritashopian
Summary: You know that Justin McElroy tweet about the first amendment??? Yeah that specific tweet possessed meORHe’d admittedly been a little tipsy when he ordered the “Gay Pride Moth” shirt, with its crossed out “N” and dark, feathery wings stretching across his shoulders. He’d been slightly more tipsy when he found what seemed like a good match- the blue and pink Bigfoot patterned flannel pants clashed delightfully.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 68





	Pride

The day after the sinkhole is surprisingly quiet. For Joseph, at least. He spent the previous night running around, trying to help the townsfolk of Kepler wherever he could. Shortly after three, he’d staggered back to the lodge and scribbled down a mostly coherent draft of his report before crashing into bed for nine hours, fully dressed. As a result he’d set aside his suit until he could find the time for laundry, opting instead to lounge in some soft, warm pajamas. 

Yes, his day is going by quite peacefully. Joseph spends most of it at the desk in his room, trying to turn his hurried notes into something he can actually submit to his superiors. He has lunch sent to his room, and then dinner, as he writes and rewrites what he has to try and make it sound as groundbreaking as he thinks it is. A perfectly circular sinkhole is  _ definitely  _ supernatural, right? More supernatural than most anything else he’s seen so far, in any case. 

Joseph sighs and drops his pen, leaning back in his chair and carding both hands through his mussed hair. There’s something here, he’s so sure of it. But it’s just  _ so hard  _ trying to find it because he’s still being stonewalled at every turn. Ms. Cobb doesn’t speak to him beyond her borderline aggressive southern pleasantries. The lodge cook, Barclay, can hardly look him in the eye. Even local government employees like Mr. Newton are unhelpful and uncooperative, although Joseph suspects that to be a result of the man’s friendship with Edmund Chicane. 

After sitting for a while with that train of thought running circles in his head, Joseph becomes aware of a commotion outside. His room is at the very end of the hall, but he can still hear the sound of yelling echoing down the corridor. Frowning, he stands and goes to see what the problem is. 

The problem, as it turns out, is a man. He has melted snow on his shoulders and halfway up the legs of his jeans. His round face is red from chin to receding hairline as he shouts in the face of an impassive Madeline Cobb. “This is ridiculous! It’s the  _ off season  _ and the middle of a blizzard, and you’re telling me there isn’t a single room I can rent for one damn night?” 

His syllables run into one another, he’s spitting them out so fast. Maybe Joseph is just used to the West Virginian drawl after so many months in Kepler, but this northern accent- possibly New Jersey, definitely north of Maryland- grates on his nerves immediately. 

“Ski town,” Ms. Cobb replies, deadpan. “Look mister, I already told ya we ain’t got any vacancies. I’m sure the other places told you the same thing, on account of all the local’s homes that got damaged by that sinkhole yesterday. But like I said, I don’t charge folks for crashin’ on my sofa when the roads are this bad- long as they stop disturbin’ my guests, that is.”

Joseph looks around for said guests, only to find the lobby deserted. The kitchen door is open a crack, someone watching from a safe distance. He spots Duck Newton lingering at the front door, hat in hand and clearly finished with his business but reluctant to leave. He’s visibly struggling between getting involved and holding his tongue. Joseph desperately wants to gather info from the ranger, but his eyes are drawn back to the check-in counter as the man starts up his complaining again. 

He shoves a shiny credit card in Ms. Cobb’s face and Joseph bristles. They may not be close, not by a long shot, but he’s grown to respect his hosts and isn’t keen to see them treated rudely by people who think their money puts them above human decency. 

“Excuse me,” he says, stepping forward. His voice cuts like cold flint in a way that makes the man jump. “Does there seem to be a problem here?”

The visitor whirls around, looking like a child caught doing something naughty until he sets his gaze on Joseph and rolls his eyes. “Move along, pal. This is none of your business.”

Joseph blinks. That is  _ certainly  _ not the reaction he’s used to getting from people. He stands up straighter. “Well I beg your pardon, Mr. Jackson,” he says, clocking the name at a glance from his credit card. ”But Ms. Cobb is quite correct. You are disturbing the peace and unless you intend to take her up on her very generous and hospitable offer, I suggest that you take your leave.”

Ms. Cobb looks almost proud of him, which makes him feel oddly bolstered as he stares down the angry man. 

A cold glint flashes in Mr. Jackson’s eyes as he sizes Joseph up. “That so, alphabet soup? Wouldn’t act so tough if I was you. Don’t these backwater towns usually take issue with  _ your  _ people?”

Joseph frowns. He opens his mouth to demand this man explain exactly what he means, but realization hits him like a bolt of lightning and he has to force himself not to look down at his shirt. He already knows what it says; they’re his favorite pajamas for a reason. He’d admittedly been a little tipsy when he ordered the “Gay Pride Moth” shirt, with its crossed out “N” and dark, feathery wings stretching across his shoulders. He’d been slightly more tipsy when he found what seemed like a good match- the blue and pink Bigfoot patterned flannel pants clashed delightfully. 

He’s never worn these pajamas around anyone in the lodge for the exact reasons that Mr. Jackson is bringing up presently. He honestly can’t believe he did so this easily, without a second thought. In spite of himself, he crosses his arms over his chest in a manner reminiscent of his younger years. “They very well might, but they at least have the decency and self preservation not to voice such concerns to a federal agent.” Joseph flushes as his voice cracks on the last word. 

“Sure,” Mr. Jackson laughs, clearly disbelieving. “Now scram. I wouldn’t budge if a  _ real  _ government official was on my ass about it, and I’m certainly not moving for you.”

“That so?” someone asks conversationally. “Maybe try tellin’ that to a fella who’s actually on duty and see where that gets ya.”

Joseph jumps. He hadn’t seen Duck approach, but there he is standing at Joseph’s side with one hand on his hip and the other quickly flashing his forestry service badge. “Duck Newton, Monongahela division. It’s a nickname. Mind explainin’ your flagrant violation of the American Hospitality Organization Lawful Exemption rule under my jurisdiction?”

Mr. Jackson scoffs, but backs down immediately in the face of a uniformed man with a badge. Joseph really should have brought his, but it’s still in his suit pocket. “And what the hell kind of rule is that exactly, Officer Newton?”

Ms. Cobb stifles a grin and catches Joseph’s eye. “ _ Officer,”  _ she mouths at him, and Joseph snickers back. 

“Oh, it’s a lot of legalese I won’t, uh, won’t bore you with. Long and the short of it is that you can’t just waltz in here and harass this woman or her guests. And that you need to fuckin’ kick rocks before I get the sherif out here,” Duck says bluntly. “This country might not have the right hate speech laws for me to have folks arrested for bein’ homophobes, but that’s just another mark against ya.”

“It’s a free country,” Mr. Jackson shoots back. “My right to free speech is protected.” He raises his eyebrows like he’s daring Duck to say anything else. Even Joseph is curious to see how he’ll respond. 

Duck heaves a long, drawn out sigh. He doffs his hat and sets it on the counter before shrugging out of his jacket. It hits the floor behind him, badges clinking softly. “It’s always the same with jackholes like you,” he complains. ”Y’all just love to quote the constitution without knowin’ what the fuck you’re talkin’ about. For the millionth time, the first amendment protects you from the  _ government.”  _ Cracking his knuckles, Duck snarls. “Not the Duck.”

“Or the Aubrey!” 

Joseph suddenly finds himself in a protective circle of bodies. Aubrey Little juggles a small flame between her hands, while Barclay twirls a rolling pin. They must have been the ones spying from the kitchen. Barclay plants himself firmly between Joseph and Mr. Jackson, and Aubrey casts a wink back at Joseph before putting her game face back on. 

Ms. Cobb casually pulls her shotgun out from under the counter and sets it in plain view. “Or the Mama,” she warns, still stone faced. “Now I’m invokin’  _ my  _ protected right to refuse service, as well as my right to defend my property and to bear arms. The door’s behind ya, so kindly let it hit ya on the way out.”

Mr. Jackson gives an enraged splutter and a few strangled curses before storming back out into the cold, slamming the door as hard as he can as he goes. Immediately, the tension in the room melts. Aubrey snuffs out the flash paper in her palm, Barclay slides his rolling pin through the belt loop on his jeans, and Duck slumps against the counter. “Thank god,” he sighs in relief. “I really wasn’t lookin’ forward to Zeke chewing my ass off over punchin’ that guy.”

More lodge residents appear out of nowhere now that the commotion has passed, slowly filtering back to their normal places in the lobby. Joseph understands how they feel; the interloper’s absence has restored the normal warmth to Amnesty Lodge and its residents. Speaking of…

“Thank you,” he says softly, trying not to grimace. “I-I thought I would be more prepared for that, but I’m glad you were all nearby.”

Duck, Aubrey, and Barclay all give him hesitant if not sincere smiles in return. 

Ms. Cobb clears her throat. “Yeah, well I should be thankin’ you too, Stern. It was mighty kind of you to try and intervene on our behalf, and you didn’t deserve to deal with all that.”

“Duck did more than I did,” Joseph protests. He hesitates before patting the other man on the shoulder awkwardly. “That was some quick and resourceful thinking, bringing up an ordinance at the drop of a hat!”

To his surprise, Duck barks out a laugh. “Not really. The AHOLE rule ain’t a real thing, even if it oughta be.”

“Amen,” Barclay chimes in. He fixes Joseph with a look he hasn’t seen on the cook’s face before. “Well, if that’s all I’d better get back to work. See you later, Stern.”

It’s more words strung together than Barclay has ever granted him before. Joseph smiles, real and pleased. “See you later, Barclay.”

Aubrey and Duck exchange a  _ look,  _ and the Lady Flame exits stage right, pursuing a bear. 

“But yeah, I uh. I couldn’t let what that guy said slide.” Duck says seriously as he bends down to pick up his coat. “I know we ain’t uh, great pals or nothin’- not for any deeper reason, just haven’t had a lot of time to,  _ shit _ , chat and all. But I figure guys like us, we gotta stick together don’t we?” 

Joseph is about to ask what he could mean by that, but something catches his eye as Duck slings the coat back across his shoulders; a quarter sized patch, sewn lovingly into the lining of the inside breast pocket. Blue, white, and pink, the same color scheme on Joseph’s Bigfoot pajamas. 

And Joseph suddenly understands that there’s been a paradigm shift here, a reason that these people who have held him at arm’s length are now smiling so warmly at him. He’s not an invader anymore, not quite. He might not be a part of the Kepler community the way the rest of them are, but he’s a part of another community. A community that is willing to accept and protect him, because he’s one of their own. 

And because he’s proud to be. 

**Author's Note:**

> I have had this in my drafts for a long while, now. Full disclaimer, I am cis and I was very hesitant about posting this because the last thing I want to do is portray this indelicately, as I love the headcanons of both Stern and Duck being trans. I’ve checked with a few non-cis friends about it but please, if anything needs edited, tagged, or scrapped altogether please let me know and I will not hesitate. I wanted this to be about solidarity and maybe a little bit of catharsis but if that’s not the mark it hits then it doesn’t need to be here.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, and happy pride!


End file.
